


On the Nature of Time and Probabilities

by Morveren



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morveren/pseuds/Morveren
Summary: Ever since you were six years old, you had known how you were going to die. It wasn't a peaceful death, no. On the contrary, it was brutal, bloody and it had given you nightmares years after you saw it in your visions.You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn't let that be your fate.Helping an injured cyborg ninja probably didn't help your cause.Accidentally joining the supposedly-defunct group known as Overwatch? Probably reduced your chances to zero.





	

The sound of chairs scraping against tiles woke you up with a start.  
The too-bright lights, the sound of students chattering about nothing, disoriented you. 

Not that you weren’t grateful, you weren’t having a particularly nice nap. In fact, you had been in the middle of a nightmare where you were taking an exam whose topic you knew absolutely nothing about.  
Then again, you shouldn’t have been sleeping in the middle of a lecture. 

“That’s about it, class. Just check the drive for my PowerPoint. And if you have time, please watch the videos I sent you.” 

You leaned forward in your seat, mouthed the words along with Dr. Dela Rosa, the professor of this week’s anatomy class. “…If you do that, you should be good for next week’s exam.”

The announcement was followed by a chorus of groans and protests from the students.

He chuckled at the reaction, making his mustache bristle.

You found yourself mumbling now, your words almost in perfect sync with the doctor’s.

“Now, now. It’s not like it wasn’t in the syllabus. And it’s not like I give hard exams. Just read the assigned chapters and you’ll be fine. Have a nice weekend, everyone.”

Your seatmate shot you an inquisitive glance as you finished the speech just a few seconds before Dr. Dela Rosa did, grinning when you realized that you had it down, word per word.

It was only when you caught your seatmate’s stare did your smile fade.

_Ah, crap._

Shouldn’t have acted like such a weirdo. 

You smiled nervously at your classmate, unsure of what to say. Small beads of sweat dotted the skin of your forehead, your stomach grew tight with fear, waiting for your classmate to say something.

And nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she giggled and said, “The doctor’s that predictable, huh?” 

You felt yourself relax slightly, forced out a laugh. “Yeah, too bad that I can’t predict what his questions’ll be next week.” 

The giggle turned into a full-blown laugh. “Yeah, well, gimme a call when you do. I’ve been failing his classes so far.” 

Lowering her voice so that it was just below a whisper, “God, anatomy lessons, what a joke. I feel like a damn mechanic.” 

“Anyway,” she said in a normal voice. “Name’s Pepper. Maybe we can hang out sometime after class? Have to go to work at McD’s on Fridays.”

You smiled, still feeling limp with relief that she found you funny instead of weird.

“Sure, maybe we can catch a movie or something.” 

Pepper gave you a mock salute as she made her way toward the door.  
Instead of gathering your things, however, you leaned back in your seat, watching the last slide of the presentation: an omnic, his posture relaxed, palms out to mimic the anatomical position that was on the thousands of anatomy books for humans.

Numbani may be one of the most one of the most omnic-tolerant cities, but you’ve already heard more than a few who shared Pepper’s less than generous opinion on them.

You?

You really didn’t have much of an opinion. 

It’s not like you were here for the anatomy lessons, anyway.

****

*****

It was three in the morning when you looked up from your latest illustration, an image of the deep muscles in the posterior thigh—you had promised your client that you’d get it done by Monday.

Your finger tensed around the paintbrush you were holding.

You weren’t sure what exactly made you stop painting, but you could feel a chill running down your spine, the familiar sensation of falling and—

_A woman moving so fast that her body was a streak as she zipped across the street. A large, glowing instrument attached to her chest, blazing a bright blue._

_Something moving in sync with her, dark smoke, maybe? A man materializes out of it, dressed all in black in his hands were two gigantic guns, which he aimed at the woman._

Your throat closed as you watched, helpless as his fingers tightened around the triggers, barrels pointed straight at the gadget strapped to the woman’s chest.

_A flash of green at the corner of your eye, the thunder of the twin shotguns as they exploded with power, bullets ripping through the air. The green line zipped by, a flash of a blade._

_The sound of shattering glass as someone was thrown through a window._

“Shit,” you gasped as the vision ended, leaving you shaking and weak.

You had been sure that the wraith’s shot would kill the woman, had wanted to cry out a warning for her. 

But as always, you were just a spectator during these visions of yours. Powerless to do anything.

Unless you localized the exact time frame of when it happened. Be there before the wraith shot the woman. Stopped the event before it got the chance to occur.

Your small glimpses into the future had never been very specific, never really accurate. The event could happen days from now, maybe weeks.  
Or in the case of a specific photo you kept in your phone, _years._

You let out a small cry as what sounded like a small explosion ripped through the still night air, followed by the sound of glass breaking.

You froze.

Or _seconds._

Somebody was groaning in pain, their voice holding a mechanic tinge that you had come to associate with omnics.

Somebody who was very close. 

Hardly daring to breathe, you padded to the living room in your bare feet, your heart beating in your throat, sure of what you’d find—praying you’d be wrong.

You weren’t. Because the visions had never been wrong before.

But instead of a dark-haired woman bleeding from her chest, sprawled across your tiny living room floor was an omnic, various grooves in his body glowing an exact shade of green you had seen in your vision. 

His left arm was a mess, the lights along his forearm blinking sporadically, the surface littered with cracks. It dangled limply from its socket, like he couldn’t get it to move. 

A red fluid that looked suspiciously like blood leaked from one of the many fissures on his metal body.

(Weren’t omnics supposed to bleed oil?)

You must have made a small noise, because in the next second, the omnic was staring straight at you and, as if he wasn’t bleeding (leaking? Was bleeding the right term?) all over your rug, he held up his good hand and said, “Yo.”


End file.
